


Driving Home For Christmas

by MashiarasDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Christmas, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Found Family, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Sam POV, Winchesters & communication, bro feels, established relationships - Freeform, no supernatural, snowstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 04:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16779772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MashiarasDream/pseuds/MashiarasDream
Summary: While trying to get back to Bobby’s and Ellen’s to have Christmas with their whole extended family, a snowstorm forces Sam and Dean to stop for the night. Checking into a crappy motel on Christmas Eve was not what either of them was counting on doing ever again.





	Driving Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, look at me, doing the fancy “&” tagging for familial relationships that all the cool kids do these days. :D 
> 
> Thank you to [Dean Riordain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRiordain/pseuds/DeanRiordain/) for betaing and to [tinnydandelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinnydandelion/pseuds/tinnydandelion/) for the cool title art! (Everyone go read their stories!)

“Please be sensible, Dean! You’re going to kill us both.”

Sam can hear it himself that his voice has taken on that naggy tone that he’s spent years trying to unlearn, but this is ridiculous. They’re crawling forward at snail pace, the Impala slipping and sliding even with Dean’s careful driving, visibility down to nothing, and they still have several hours’ drive ahead of them even in good conditions.

“Dean, you heard the weather report! The snowstorm’s gonna get worse still. Let’s find a motel and stay for the night. See whether the streets are clear tomorrow.”

“It’s _Christmas_ tomorrow,” Dean hisses.

“Yeah, I’m aware,” Sam bitches back. “And it’s not like I want to miss it, either. But I’d rather open a few packages late than open them at the Pearly Gates.”

Dean grumbles something that may or may not be agreement so Sam whips out his phone to check for motels nearby.

“Oh goddammit.” He shakes his phone as if that might help but of course it doesn’t.

“No reception?” Dean asks.

“Don’t even _start_!” Sam interrupts before Dean can start with his stupid running gag about how he thinks that Sam made a demon deal in order to always get WiFi signal. “This is _not_ funny!”

“I wasn’t laughing,” Dean grumps back and cautiously steers the Impala onto the exit ramp. “Guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way.”

“Whatever crappy motel comes by first. Just like good old times, huh?” The sarcasm leaks out of his sentence, but he can’t stop it. They’ve never had _good old times_.

“Ah, come on, Sammy, it wasn’t all bad,” Dean makes what has to count for a valid attempt at lightening the mood.

Only, Sam’s not having it. He rolls his eyes. “Please stay grumpy, Dean. I don’t think I can take you getting sentimental about our shitty childhood right now.”

Dean frowns at him but he keeps his mouth shut. Sam’s not necessarily sure that it’s a good sign for anything.

It takes another ten minutes to make it off the exit ramp and another 15 after that to get to the first small town, because their speed still doesn’t manage to crawl above 10 MPH.

“Please remember that we have money for something that doesn’t have roaches now,” Sam begs when the first motel they come by looks like it’s seen its last paint job in the Seventies.

“I remember,” Dean replies testily and keeps going.

At the rate they’re bitching at each other, it’s going to be a long 24 hours before they make it to South Dakota.

Three motels on, Dean finally turns into a parking lot. The small motel has flamingos with Santa hats as decorations that are currently half-buried under snow. All of the neon letters in the vacancy sign are blinking a sad rhythm, but none of them is broken. That’s about the best that they’re going to get in terms of a quality motel, at least without any of the apps coming online, which yes, Sam checks again and still no dice.

They grab their jackets from the backseat to get wrapped in at least one additional layer before opening the car doors. It still doesn’t take more than a step to suck all the warmth out of Sam’s bones. He crosses his arms over his chest, trying desperately to protect at least his core and stems himself against the wind, balancing not to slip on the icy surface while the snow keeps trying to blind him. Goddamn, he should have stayed in Cali.

“I did not miss the snow, man, I can tell you that,” Sam says as soon as they’ve reached the dryness of the reception area. He shakes out his hair, sending snowflakes flying.

Dean doesn’t deem that worthy of a reply, all he asks is, “You gonna want your own room?”

“What? No,” Sam answers confused. “We’ve always shared.”

“Thought you didn’t want a trip down memory lane,” Dean bites. “Reminded me of how we have money now and all, too.”

“Cause I didn’t want to step on a roach after showering! I got no problem with sharing,” Sam says bewildered.

“Alright,” Dean grumbles and approaches the receptionist. “You got a double with twin beds for two people who got stranded by the storm?”

“Sure!” The receptionist gives them a professionally friendly smile. “Just awful that the storm had to come right for Christmas, huh? We already have three other rooms booked by people who wanted to get to their families.”

Dean nods at the small talk, filling in their info for the booking quickly. “Yeah, speaking of families, you got free Wifi by any chance?”

“Uhh, I’m so sorry,” she scrunches up her face. “We’ve got no Wifi at all. I keep telling my boss that people expect it these days, but frankly, he’s too old to understand modern technology.”

Dean grumbles something that sounds vaguely affirmative, if disappointed, but Sam’s heart sinks into his stomach. He was counting on the motel giving them some communication options.

“You can use the landline if it’s just a short call to let your loved ones know?” The girl offers and indicates the phone next to her. It doesn’t even have a cordless receiver.

Dean looks at the phone with a distrustful glance but he accepts, “That would be awesome, thanks.”

“Sure, it’s no problem.” The girl puts the phone up on the counter so that Dean can reach.

He punches in the digits quickly, this number apparently one that Dean knows by heart. Doesn’t take longer than a few rings for someone to pick up, either.

“Hey, yeah, Bobby, ‘s me. … Yeah, Sam an’ I won’t make it tonight, snowstorm’s got us cornered. … Yeah, ‘s what Sam said as well. … Yeah, it’s fine. … Nah, we’ve found a place that’s still got room, we’re good. Listen, Bobby, is Cas around? … Give him to me for a second? …Yeah, yeah, you too. ... Hey, Cas. Did you make it in alright? Roads still good for you? … Yeah, we got stuck. Won’t make it in before tomorrow night.” He turns halfway around to Sam, glancing at him, before turning back to the receiver, shielding his phone call with his whole body as best as he can. “I’m sorry, Cas.I tried. I really tried. … No, it’s not okay. I know that Christmas is a big deal for you and - … Yeah. Yeah, okay. … Yeah, um, me too. I mean, same,” Dean coughs. “Storm’s not supposed to last longer than into the early morning hours. They’ll have the roads cleared by lunchtime tomorrow. We’ll set out as soon as we can, okay? … Of course. I always drive safely. … Yeah, okay, I’ll drive extra safe.”

“Dean, hey, Dean!” Sam interrupts because he’s got a feeling that Dean’s about to hang up. “Can you ask about Eileen? Is she there already?”

“Hey, Cas, did you hear that? Sam wants to know whether his new girlfriend is already in. ... She’s not,” he reports back to Sam. “Should they call her?”

Sam thinks about it for a moment. “Uhh, no, probably not. It’s too complicated. They’d need to facetime her and she can’t answer when she’s on the road. And since they don’t know how to sign and with the lag and distortions with streaming, that usually doesn’t work so great anyway while on the road.” He sighs. At least Eileen is driving up from her parents, coming in from the opposite direction that’s not directly hit by the storm. “I’ll find a way to check in tomorrow morning. Hopefully, cell phone reception will be back once the skies clear up. Tell them to be nice to her until I’m there!”

Dean chuckles. “Cas says he can’t give any guarantees that Bobby won’t start cleaning his shotguns. I wanna add that I’m not giving guarantees for Jo, either.”

Sam shrugs. “Yeah, well, Eileen’s a pretty decent shot, they’re going to have to do better than that.”

Dean whistles through his teeth, expression impressed. “Nice, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Come on, hang up and let’s brave the storm to get to our room.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean turns back to the phone with a sigh. “Guess that’s my cue. I’m gonna call as soon as we’re back on the street, okay? … Always, Cas, always. See you tomorrow. … Yeah, me too.” He hangs up the phone with another big sigh. Then he turns back to the receptionist. “Thanks for that.”

“No worries. And see, I used the time to get your room keys ready. Here you go.” She gives them a quick explanation about the room and breakfast hours in the morning and sends them on their way.

Fighting their way to their room is about as much fun as expected but at least it’s not far to go and the room itself isn’t as garish as it could be. The flamingo theme has been taken up only indirectly, resulting in a carpet with palm tree print and lime green walls. The palm trees seem like wishful thinking but at least they’re not bright enough to give Sam a headache.

“Well, that could be worse,” Dean says aloud what Sam was thinking and throws his duffle on one of the beds, effectively claiming it.

“And the heat works,” Sam remarks, because the room is in fact toasty.

“Always a plus,” Dean nods and checks out the rest of the room.

Sam lets him and instead inspects his bed. It seems clean enough so he lets himself fall onto the too soft mattress. “You know that the security check is unnecessary, right? There’s no killer out there to get us.”

Dean grunts but predictably does not stop what he’s doing. Some things are just too ingrained, Sam guesses.

“Everything up to your standards?” he asks when Dean is finally done.

“As good as can be expected, I guess,” Dean grumps, his whole face drown into a dark frown.

“Really, Dean, I’m not a fan of being stuck here, either. But it is as it is. So you could _try_ to pretend to be okay with my company at least.”

“‘S not that,” Dean shrugs but even the way he flings himself down on the bed radiates grumpiness. “‘S just that I - _we_ had plans.”

“Wish they had Wifi, I would find you _The Grinch_ ,” Sam shakes his head. “They’re just gonna wait with opening presents until we’re there. It’s not like it’s that important that it’s done in the morning.”

Dean huffs and ignores the second part of Sam’s statement completely. “As if you’d spend a moment talking to me if you had the chance to facetime your girlfriend.”

“Why would you say that?” Sam frowns.

“Oh, come on, Sammy. ‘Don’t get sentimental about our shitty childhood now’? You couldn’t have made yourself any clearer,” Dean snaps.

“Dean, that’s not - that was about the motel, not about you!” Sam rubs his forehead. Maybe that headache is coming on after all.

“Yeah, right,” Dean scoffs. “Like there’s a difference.”

“Of course there is a difference!” Sam exclaims, flinging his arms to the side in frustration.

Dean shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand. “You know what. Forget it.” He digs for his wallet and pulls out a couple of bills. “Go make yourself useful and get us some snacks from the vending machine.”

For a moment, Sam has to fight the urge to shake his brother and shake his insistence to never talk about anything out of him, but they’re stuck here for the night and a physical fight will be just that, a physical fight. Wouldn’t be the first time, and it’s never solved anything before. So he groans for effect but gets up from the bed. “It’s the 21st century, Dean. Vending machines take cards.”

The vending machine is a pretty pathetic excuse for a food dispenser - though it does actually take cards at least - and it’s not exactly well-stocked. For a second, Sam can almost smell Ellen’s meatloaf that they’d for sure be eating by now if they had made it home. The word _home_ is what throws him out of the illusion in the next moment. It’s a carefully kept secret that in the privacy of his own thoughts he calls Bobby’s and Ellen’s place home. Oh, they wouldn’t mind. Dean would.

So Sam just buys all of the granola bars for himself and all of the mini-chips for Dean. He adds a pile of chocolate bars as dessert and raids the neighboring machine for soft drinks. Dean’s probably got a bottle of something or other in his duffle that he’s waiting to break out, so Sam doesn’t see it as a priority to go search for alcohol.

Instead, he braves a few extra minutes of cold to see whether the outside provides him with any bars on his cell phone, but no such luck. It does seem to him, though, that the winds aren’t quite as biting anymore, the snowflakes tumbling from the sky in more of a dance than a battle. But visibility is still zero, and even though there is a lone employee shoveling the entrance to the parking lot it doesn’t look like the streets are going to be passable much longer. It was a good choice coming here. Otherwise, they’d almost definitely have looked at a night in the Impala at the side of the road. Which, with the right emergency equipment, is definitely survivable, but still hella uncomfortable.

With that thought, Sam decides to retreat back to the safety of their room. He bangs open the door louder than maybe necessary, startling Dean and - “Whoa, is that a ring?”

Dean lets the lid of the box shut close and tries to let it disappear but Sam’s fast when he wants to be. He dumps the snacks on his bed and snatches the box right out of Dean’s hand, who makes a half-hearted grab at Sam but then kind of freezes when Sam opens the box.

“Whoa.”

It’s a simple broad band, two layers of a dark and a lighter silver color - titanium, maybe? - with an eternity symbol laid in in gold. It’s simple and almost classic, and yet at the same time, Sam’s sure that you can’t buy this off the rack. That this is custom-made.

“Whoa,” he says again and sinks back down on his own bed, only narrowly missing the chocolate bars.

When he looks up from the ring to Dean again, Dean’s face is red. Sam isn’t really sure whether it’s anger or embarrassment, but he half-expects Dean to bark at him to give the ring back and not touch what’s his.

It’s not what happens, though. Instead, Dean wrings his hands together, bites his lip, takes a deep breath and reluctantly asks, “Do you think he’ll like it?”

Sam raises his eyebrows because his brother is a lot of things, but _nervous_ is not usually one of them.

Dean fidgets under Sam’s gaze but he goes on, “I thought, you know, the light and the dark cause his family’s all these shiny rich people, and the dark is for us, not because we’re bad or anything, but because…”

“... because we grew up in the Impala,” Sam says, the shiny black of the reflection suddenly clicking into place for him.

“Yeah,” Dean nods, small smile on his lips as he’s obviously happy that his line of thinking makes sense to someone other than him. “And then the eternity symbol, because you know, forever and all that happy shit.”

Sam nods, suddenly overwhelmed. Cause this is a lot of work and emotion that Dean’s put into this. And he’s sharing it with Sam. Without Sam even having to poke and prod and nudge. Which is why he tries hard not to let his emotions show when he asks, “Why the gold?”

Dean blushes even harder. “Because he brought warmth into my life, y’know? And gold is a warm color.”

And that is - that is so _sweet_ that Sam has to actively work to keep his voice steady and to not fling himself forward to hug his brother. “You brought it to each other, Dean,” he corrects gently, “the both of you brought warmth to each other.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean scratches his neck embarrassedly, “the symbol does go through both halves, so… Warmth to both sides.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “Yeah, I saw that. The ring is beautiful, Dean. Cas will love it.” He holds it back out to his brother.

“You sure?”

“Yes, Dean. I’m sure.” He has no idea how Dean can doubt it.

“Okay,” Dean says and takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

He takes the ring back from Sam but he doesn’t pocket it yet. Instead he reverently runs a finger along its edges. His smile is still there but it’s a shade sadder when he looks back up.

“Wanted to do it tomorrow morning. Cause you know, Cas loves Christmas. It has all this meaning for him. I mean, I wasn’t gonna do it when everyone’s around, I’m not putting that kind of pressure on him. I kinda want him to say Yes because he wants to, y’know. Not because I made him do it because he feels uncomfortable turning me down in front of my family.”

That makes Sam chuckle a little. “I doubt you could make Cas do something he didn’t want to do even if you tried.”

“Ah,” Dean waggles his eyebrows, his voice getting back a little of his usual swagger, “I’ve got my ways.”

“I do _not_ want to know. Eww.” But it’s said without heat because looking at Dean, really looking at him, beyond the grump and the posturing, what he can see is, “You’re happy.” 

Dean doesn’t even try to deflect, either. “Yeah, Sammy,” he nods. “Yeah, I’m happy.” Then he shrugs, deliberately taking the intimacy out of the moment. “Unless he says No, of course. In that case, you’re gonna have to scrape me from Bobby’s living-room floor, because me and JD are gonna have a month-long date.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right. Like that’s gonna happen.”

“Could, you know,” Dean says and suddenly sounds serious again. “Was a time that Cas thought he’d have to get this traditional church wedding complete with 2.5 kids and a picket fence marriage that he didn’t want. Might be that he’s not into marriage at all anymore.”

“You haven’t talked about it?” Sam asks with a frown.

Dean sighs and lays back, staring at the ceiling instead of looking at Sam. “We’ve talked about it in theoretical terms. Never really about - us. ‘S mostly my fault.”

“Why is that?”

“‘Cause it was easiest that way? Wasn’t sure I would like the answer, so I didn’t ask.”

“Cas never asked, either?”

“It might come as a surprise to you but I’m pretty good at deflecting questions I don’t want to answer,” Dean replies drily.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, I’ll give you that one.”

“Also,” Dean sighs again, “Cas was around for - uhh, you know, my early twenties?”

“Yeah. That was - something,” Sam answers neutrally.

“You can say it, Sam, you know? That I was a slut and an asshole. I ain’t gonna punch you.”

Sam shrugs. “I’m not judging you, that’s all I wanted to say.”

“Yeah, well, maybe _I’m_ judging me.”

“Why would you do that?”

“‘Cause I knew better,” Dean shrugs. “Even then.”

“Dean, you spent your whole fucking childhood raising me. Your early twenties were the first time ever you got to concentrate on yourself. Some enjoyment of the new freedom was expected.”

Cause Sam was safe with Bobby and Ellen. Cause Sam had an actual bed to sleep in and a school to go to and food on the table. Food that wasn’t taken from Dean’s plate because there was yet again not enough to feed both of them.

“Yeah, don’t think I dealt especially well with that. Guess I was too used to caring for your skinny ass.”

Sam’s not really sure what to say to that. Apart from, “I worried, you know? I mean I _was_ glad to have a stable place but I wasn’t glad when you disappeared. I wanted you to come home.” He flinches the next moment, the word _home_ having slipped in there after all. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t see it the same way.”

“Nah, ‘s okay. I always knew you hated the life we had together with Dad. I didn’t want to fuck it up for you when you finally got what you wanted.”

“Yeah, I hated the _life_ we had with Dad. I never hated _you_.”

Dean chuckles mirthlessly. “Yeah, Sammy, I’m calling bullshit on that. You told me in detailed explanations why you hated me.”

“I was a kid, Dean! A stupid fucking kid who only knew that he had to leave all of his friends behind yet again.”

“Nah, there was nothing stupid about you. You figured it out immediately, too. After, you know, Dad was gone. That that was in the past now. That people wouldn’t be ripped away from you anymore. Took me a frikking long time to figure that out. And Cas had to bear the brunt of that.”

“The important thing is, you figured it out,” Sam says. “I mean…” He gestures at the ring.

“Yeah, I guess.” For the first time in a while, Dean smiles. His face gets this fond, dreamy expression that makes all his features softer than they normally are. “There’s this tiny house, you know? It’s only like five minutes walk to the school where Cas teaches. It’s not much, as I said it’s tiny, but it’s cozy and it has a porch for a BBQ and a second bedroom that we could use as a guest room and…”

Dean trails off, possibly because Sam’s mouth hangs open. He shuts it with an audible click. “You’re thinking about buying a house. You’re settling down. Like, with all the stops.”

Immediately, the dreamy expression is gone, Dean’s guard coming back up. “Problem?” He raises his eyebrows.

“No! God, no, Dean! I just never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean gives in, relaxing some. “Fair enough. So what about you? That Eileen chick? Serious?”

“Wouldn’t bring her to Christmas if it wasn’t, would I now?” Sam answers and then groans when he remembers, “And now she’s stuck with all of these people she doesn’t know and who’re gonna give her the fifth degree.”

“Ah, come on, Bobby hasn’t threatened anyone with his shotgun in a while. And Jo’s not had a crush on either of us in years, so she won’t give her too hard a time, either.”

“Right,” Sam drags out the R as long as he can. “I’m sure they’re a picture-perfect family and won’t try to interrogate her at all.”

“If she’s lucky they’re going to give her eggnog first.”

Sam snorts. “I don’t think it’s going to go over too well if they’re all drunk and slurring their words.”

“At least she has an excuse why she doesn’t understand them, we don’t,” Dean counters with a snort of his own.

“True enough,” Sam chuckles. Then he asks cautiously, “What do you think about that anyway? About Eileen being deaf, I mean?”

Dean shrugs. “Am I supposed to think something special about it?”

“Uhh, well, I dunno. Some people assume it’s difficult or something.”

“You mean _‘difficult’_ like some people assume gay marriage is _difficult_ and if you’re bi you should rather go for the easier option instead of being with the person you love? ‘Cause I can’t remember you counseling me to leave Cas, y’know?”

“Well, I _am_ a human rights’ lawyer. If anyone refuses to bake your wedding cake, I’m -”

“Chill!” Dean stops him before Sam can even get into this particular rant. “Gabe’s gonna bake our wedding cake because he’s gonna kill us if we hire someone else. And no amount of lawyering will bring us back to life after that.”

“Hrmpf. Alright, so the wedding cake is sorted. But if anyone ever discriminates against you...”

“.. we’ll come a’running. Got it, Sam,” Dean rolls his eyes with affected annoyance. The gratitude in his eyes gives him away, though. Dean had been ready to fight when he first told Sam about being bisexual and he had been ready to fight again when he told him that Cas and him were ‘a thing’. Sometimes, it seemed like he still couldn’t believe that all of his family had accepted that as it was without making a fuss.

Well, and Sam guesses that if their Dad was still alive, that would have been different. Their Dad would definitely have made a fuss. Of the kind, where when they were younger, Dean sometimes had needed stitches. So maybe it was no wonder that Dean was still on his guard about this, even though for Dean-terms he had gotten much more open in recent years. Sam’s got a feeling that they have Cas to thank for that.

Because really, Sam and Dean are not seeing each other as often anymore as they could. Even now, it was the coincidence that Dean’s last job before the holidays brought him close to where Sam was closing out his last case of the year that afforded the brothers this road trip. Sam’s never actually had as much time as he wants to visit Dean and Cas since they moved together and to see their dynamics as a couple in action.

So sometimes, the pictures in his mind still are those of earlier times. Of Cas being a slightly socially awkward and too serious young man, who quietly and patiently stands by Dean’s side even when Dean fucks up. Who never holds it against him and who doesn’t let himself be provoked into retaliating against Dean’s anger, either. Oh, and Dean had tried, in those early years. Had tried to drive away Cas and anyone else who expected anything of him. Who thought him capable in any way. The fact that Cas had gotten through that and had never once abandoned Dean, was a feat only Dean’s closest family had otherwise managed. And it was why Sam hadn’t been particularly surprised when Dean had finally confessed that he and Cas were officially a couple now.

Though, “You’re really getting married. I still can’t believe it.”

“Don’t jinx it! He hasn’t said yes yet. You can get sappy about my big fat gay wedding after that ring is on his finger.”

“I’m not -,” but then he thinks better of it. “Well, maybe I am. I’m happy that my big brother has found someone he loves and who loves him back. Enough that you want to spend your whole lives together. Pretty sure it’s okay to be a little sappy about that. Because that’s kind of cool, man.”

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Dean admits. “I’ll still leave the tree hugging to you, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the manliest man to ever man,” Sam waves the remark aside. Then he bites his lip but he asks anyway. “Would you wish he could be there? Our Dad, I mean? For the wedding?”

Dean huffs a dismissive noise. “Like he’d even show.”

“He loved you, Dean.”

“Yeah, some kind of love that was,” Dean huffs.

“Hey, it was you who always defended him.”

Dean doesn’t answer that, just stares at the ceiling again, frown on his face getting deeper.

Sam takes it as a sign that this is veering into dangerous territory and a break is needed. “Chips?” he asks, holding the mini-bags out as a peace offering.

It takes a moment, but then, “Yeah, sure,” Dean sighs and sits back up. He lets a finger glide over the velvet of the ring box before letting it disappear back into his pocket. Then he holds his hands out for Sam to toss him some chips and a bottle of coke.

They find _Die Hard_ among the bunch of crappy Christmas movies on the cable channels and sit back on their beds, munching on their spare meals quietly.

It takes up to a commercial break shortly after Bruce Willis walks barefoot over glass shards, before Dean turns back to Sam. “I tried, you know? To make Christmas as good as it could be in a crappy motel without real presents. I tried to make sure you had food and at least something to unpack. ‘S all I could do.”

“I know,” Sam answers. “I know that, Dean.”

“Still wasn’t enough, though, huh? You got no fond Christmas memories whatsoever?” Dean asks, trying to make it sound dismissive but doing a pisspoor job at covering his hurt.

“Dean, I…,” Sam sighs, runs a hand through his hair and grabs the remote to mute the TV. “What about you? What’s your favorite childhood Christmas?” he turns the question around.

Dean thinks about it for a moment. “When you were four, probably.”

“What happened when I was four?” Sam asks. He definitely doesn’t have any memories of that.

“You’d been bugging me about learning to read pretty much all year. Thought it stupid that you always had to wait until I read something to you.” Dean snorts softly. “Probably weren’t too impressed with my reading skills, either. Anyway, I got this spelling game for you. You know, the kind they use in schools to help you get the first sentences down? You were so goddamn excited. And Dad didn’t come home basically all Christmas, so we got to play with the thing for days before we had to hide it.”

“Yeah, I remember the game,” Sam says slowly, because now that he’s been reminded, some vague memories do indeed come back. “We had to hide it because you stole it, I assume?”

“Dude, things we did not have: money to burn on spelling games. But nah, Dad would have thrown it out either way. He didn’t like it when we ‘thought we were something better’. And spelling games, definitely thinking you’re something better.”

“He seriously thought a four-year-old and an eight-year-old were doing spelling games because they thought they were smarter than him?” The rationale kind of boggles Sam’s mind.

“Ah, I don’t think anyone ever accused Dad of being too logical while drunk.”

“And he always was drunk,” Sam says drily.

“Yeah, usually,” Dean agrees, surprisingly peaceful about the subject. “So I’m gathering your favorite was eating Ellen’s Christmas casserole, huh?”

“Would you be terribly upset if I said yes?”

It’s still better than telling Dean that the one year Sam spent with a foster family was the first time he actually got that Christmas was not supposed to be about your father getting blackout drunk and your brother trying to scrunge together enough food for everyone. That Christmas could have a tree and decorations and a festive meal and people laughing and a whole house being light and happy. Sam would take it to his grave that he had kind of not missed his always too serious and usually abrasive brother that Christmas.

He hadn’t gotten it, of course, being a kid himself. How much Dean had actually done for him. How much of his own childhood he’d sacrificed for Sam to be able to be an obnoxious and ungrateful little brother.

“Nah. I kinda figured.” Dean shrugs but the hurt is still audible. He makes a grab for the remote and turns the volume up again.

They sit in silence for a while, the explosions of the movie ringing hollow with the silence between them. And Sam just can’t let that stand. “Dean?” he asks after a while.

“Hmm?”

Sam turns the volume of the TV back down, not caring that they’re nearing the climax of the movie. “You wanna know what my actually favorite Christmases are? They are _now_. They are with all of us. With Ellen making us punch and eggnog, and Bobby grumbling about how we’re too much to keep up with, and with Jo regaling us with tales from college, and with you and Cas sneaking out to make out in the pantry. They’re with Jody and her brood invading the house with a mountain of casserole on the 26th, and with something catching on fire because something always catches on fire, and with everyone panicking and stomping the flames out with Ellen’s favorite blanket, and it’s all a big mess, but everyone helps together to clean up and you make a dumb joke and Cas scolds you for it, and he’s so earnest about it that suddenly everyone’s laughing again. That’s why I invited Eileen. Cause this, this is it, you know? Our family. Everyone we love. And it’s chaotic and it will always be messy and I’m damn proud of it. Because it’s happy. We’re happy, Dean. We’re _happy_.”

He doesn’t have to say it, how much of a miracle that is. How little either of them had ever believed that they’d get a happy end.

For a long moment, there is silence, the movie’s flickering illuminating the emotions running over Dean’s face. “Huh,” he finally says quietly and thoughtfully. “Never thought about it like that, really. But I guess you’re right.”

“Course I’m right. I’m always right,” Sam answers, making his voice smug.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean cracks a smile. “Just throw me a chocolate bar, Moose. And don’t think you’re gonna get your present in this crappy motel! We’ll do a proper gift exchange once we’re back home.”

Sam shoots a questioning look at Dean. But Dean holds his gaze. Yeah, the word _home_ was not an accident.

“Alright,” Sam nods, heart expanding with love. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Merry early Christmas to you, my found family! I love you!


End file.
